Write about something that is: faulty.
Inspired by the weed eater refusing to work this morning. Kat's dad took it in to have it looked at this afternoon and the problem turned out to be a filter that needs cleaning twice a year. I'm guessing it's never been cleaned. So at least that's taken care of now.
I ended up doing some hand weeding in the garden and then took another chunk out of the weeds by our raspberries. The second variety that we grow is coming into season and my goodness are they ever big. I'm looking forward to picking those tomorrow.
Rebecca is returning this evening and she's bringing her boyfriend with her. Not sure exactly how long he'll be staying, maybe until the weekend, but for however long it ends up being it'll be nice to have another set of hands around to help out, as he sounds quite eager to be a part of things on the farm.
Vincent was having a great deal of difficulty focusing on the task at hand. He could feel the weight of the onlookers stares on his shoulder blades. Sweat was beginning to slip from his brow and into his eyes. His fingers felt as though they were growing thicker and more clumsy with each passing second.
"Maybe jiggle it a bit?"
And, oh yes, the well-meant suggestions. They kept battering into him like boulders careening down a mountain.
"Have you tried unplugging it and then plugging it back in again?"
Vincent forced himself to breathe in through his nostrils and out through his mouth. It didn't really calm him down, but it seemed to be holding his temper in check. Which was definitely something.
"Do I get to leave if this muttonhead can't figure it out?"
Vincent turned at this, his eyes going hard. He knew that voice. He'd been hearing far too much of it recently.
"You don't get to walk," he told the man strapped to the electric chair, "just because the switch is acting up. It might take a while, so you best get yourself comfy. But not, you know, too comfy..."